Sex on Fire
by AdelineDalloway
Summary: 10/Donna. Inspired by the song "Sex on Fire" by Kings of Leon. Graphic. Rated M.


[Not mine, sadly. Everything belongs to the BBC.]

Sex on Fire

He knows it's happening before she does.

He sees it in the way her knuckles have turned white gripping his arm, and the urgency with which she clings to him. He feels it in the way warmth seems to radiate off her skin in waves when they touch, and he feels it this very second.

She's inches away, mere inches, and nothing inside of him makes him want to back away. Not when he sees her catch her bottom lip between her teeth – and as far as she's concerned, he knows _exactly _what that means. She pulls in a tremulous breath and it escapes her slightly parted lips as the faint echo of a moan; the promise of more to come. His blood has heated ferociously, practically scalding him from the inside out, leaving him conscious of only the red of her hair and the fire of a dying world at his back. They were safe, finally, but standing on this delicate perch – toeing the line that he himself had drawn between them – was starting to feel like one of the most dangerous things he'd ever done.

Her eyes are shy for possible the first time when she skims her greedy eyes over the curve of his shoulder and the width of his chest and up the long line of his neck, and even if she hasn't admitted it to herself he knows what she's thinking. He can hear the furious chanting in his head as though it was his own. _Now. Now. Now. _When he does pull her against him, molding his flat planes to her giving curves, she goes without question. Even his kiss, that swift force of his lips on hers, elicits no complaint from his companion. Should he have needed her less, he would have been afraid of her submission.

The fear from their escape lingers in her mouth as he tastes her, that shadow of adrenaline still spiking in her veins somehow intoxicating him. It spurs him on, makes him arrogant, knowing that she'd been afraid and he'd protected her. He and he alone had kept her safe, and it is that knowledge that makes him wild. He isn't careful or gentle with her, not like he would have been any other time. Now he takes from her and revels in her sighs and the heavy pounding of her heartbeat within her chest, now so close to his own. He feels her shaking, hears the pleading in her head, and is consumed with selfish desperation to have her. He will, he knows, when he pulls her hips roughly against his and her breath catches. The gasp echoes in the cavernous room surrounding them, telling him that she needs him just as much as he's always needed her.

Running his fingers through those luscious ginger locks he'd always been so envious of, he moves away from her mouth to press his lips to the corner of her mouth and then her jaw. Her neck, all soft skin and elegant lines, brings her scent into his nose and he groans. She shivers and he can't help but run his hands over her shoulders and down the length of her arms, committing her to memory. Should he never remember another thing for the rest of his life, he deems it necessary to remember this. She allows him his exploration, murmuring consent and moaning approval at varying intervals. Finally, feeling frustrated and impatient, she grabs his face and brings it back up to hers. Her kiss is possessive, forceful. She's had enough, this tells him, and that's all the permission he needs to do what he's wanted to do all along.

He breaks their kiss long enough to pull down the straps of her dress, baring pale but flushed skin to meet his hungry eyes. He explores with his hands first, grasping the generous mounds of flesh and rolling the nipples with the pads of his thumbs. She shudders and inhales deeply, mewling in pleasure at his ministrations. Pleased, he leans down to fasten his mouth around one of the rigid buds. His tongue against the feverish skin makes her sigh and murmur in contentment, but the measured nip of his teeth leaves her shuddering and spewing loving profanities in his arms. Music – a symphony. Her ecstasy is a chorus that begs to be prolonged and he has no intention of doing anything but.

His ravenous hands force the dress away from her body, pooling it at her feet and instantly forgetting its existence. Gripping a fistful of black lace, he violently rips away the last barrier keeping him from her. He listens to the fabric shred smugly, throwing it away. Pressing her back against a high railing, he wrenches her leg to straddle his waist and she whimpers at the sudden cold on her naked skin before gasping as his fingers penetrate her. He pulls the slick digits from her body slowly, watching intensely as her chest heaves and her lips curve in silent exclamations before he drives them ruthlessly back into her. The pattern continues this way; quick thrusts in and slow pull-out. She tries to piston her hips, give herself some freedom to set her own pace, but no. He won't allow that. He feels powerful doing this, driving her to the brink only to bring her right back down. He won't make her beg, not really, but when she leans up to wrap his tie around her fist he knows he can't make her wait any longer. He speeds up, curving his fingers into her and watching her thrash in response. It doesn't take long this way, mere seconds, for her to clench her muscles around his fingers and yell out her completion. She calls out to deities, but he's the one who hears her pleas.

He watches as his companion goes, memorizing the heat of her body against his skin and the wanton cries in the air around them. When she finally lifts her head, gazing longingly at him through eyes clouded with rapture, any semblance of control he may have had before now shattered. Seeing her this way – naked and trembling in post-orgasmic euphoria – ends him in a way that not even he has the good sense to find surprising.

He needs only one hand to free himself of the ties that bind him, snapping button anchor threads and pulling at fabric with fingers that had, only moments before, brought his lover to release. The buttons at his waist are the last to go, letting loose his utmost restraint. He's hot and heavy in his own hand, his hardened flesh unconfined and highly sensitive. After watching her, experiencing her release at his hands, his own touch is almost too much to bear. She's the only touch he needs, and she knows that as well as he does. She stares at him expectantly and greets him with a satisfied moan as he leans over to capture her lips again, the most stimulated areas of their bodies aligning almost perfectly. Her back leaned against a rail, her leg hiked around his waist, brings them within millimeters of completion. It's maddening and he won't bear it.

Listening only to the hurried rush of blood in his ears, he plunges into her and sees constellations behind his eyelids. Everything whites out for a moment, blinding him to anything but the sensation of her surrounding him. It's her low keening that brings him back to the present with a roar, pushing into her with an abandon that's nearing crazed. His pace is reckless and rough, all reasoning lost now in the flood of sensation. He feels frantic listening to her desperate moans and whispered pleas; it's like rushing into the fires of Earth's sun, scorching him as a warning of what's to come.

Greedy and slack-jawed, he watches as her second orgasm builds, gaining force with time. He slams into her, inciting vocalizations at a higher pitch before she finally breaks apart. This time her whole body shakes and her screams are wordless. He can only watch as she plateaus, suspended in her bliss. She's breathtaking here, this way. Inspired by her, and craving that same relief, his tempo increases and he feels the edges of his consciousness begin to blur. His focus narrows and suddenly there is only the two of them – only her body welcoming him in. Sensing his coming end, his lover raises her hands to his face and runs her fingers gently through his hair. Her nails on his scalp send jolts of electricity down his spine, making him twitch excitedly inside her. She notices this – of course she does – and does it again, slower, prolonging the sensation as long as she can. He growls, a low rumbling in his chest, and drives into her.

Their friendship is gone.

His love for her is gone.

There is only need.

Leaning close to whisper encouragements in his ear, she grasps two handfuls of dark hair at his temples and gives them a sharp pull. He yells and she repeats the action, eliciting the same response. It's not until she scrapes her nails down his chest and ribs that the moment finally arrives. He snaps; his muscles taut and straining against the magnitude of his release. His back arches almost painfully and his eyes force themselves closed. Pouring himself into her, he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm and spasms helplessly against her. Panting, he marvels at the intensity. Had sex ever felt this way before now? He feels hollowed out in the best way, sated and aching.

He slips from her body with a shudder and she leans into him, delighting him with the heavy beating of her heart and the slight shake in her muscles as he lets her down to stand on her own two feet. She wobbles, but he catches her. He always does.

His breathing calms slowly and he feels the sweat beading on his forehead. He's trembling still but leans forward to press a kiss to her neck, then her cheek, and finally her mouth. She sighs happily into his kiss and he doesn't have to ask how she feels because he can see it written all over that brilliantly expressive face of hers. Happy. Content. Exhilarated. Thoroughly, wonderfully shagged.

He thought so, at least.

Irrational pride comes bubbling up and he regards her with smoldering eyes.

"Donna?"

"Yes, love."

"You're not leaving me."

She smirks and gives him a small kiss. "Wouldn't dream of it. Now take me to bed, Spaceman, or lose me forever."


End file.
